It Makes For a Great Headline
by 39-Owari
Summary: Managing a band, fending off hormonal girls, and leading the University's caste system…because of these, social ringleader Alfred F. Jones absolutely cannot let anyone know about the secret that could quite possible ruin him. But what happens when student council president, Arthur Kirkland, turns out to be a part of that secret and hates him for it? It could make school headlines.
1. In Enters The Bad Queen

It Makes For a Great Headline

"Oi! I said to the left! To the left!"

"Everything you got in the box to the—"[*]

"Are you fucking kidding me, Gilbert?" The albino snorted from the chair he was standing on at his French companion, who rolling more pieces of masking tape for him to use. Gilbert pulled off the crooked poster and sighed.

"C'mon Francis, it was too perfect. I'm just trying to make this totally unawesome job somewhat fun." Francis looked at the remaining posters piled next to his own crouching figure and huffed.

"Mon ami, if this job was intended to be 'fun', I'm quite sure our bossy American lead _chanteur_ wouldn't have _us_ doing this, now would he?" Gilbert hopped off of the chair and bent to touch his toes; his back made a loud cracking sound as he stood up straight and snorted again.

"As true as I am awesome. Too bad Toni got his ass landed in detention. He really could've helped us. By the way, what the hell did he do?" The Frenchman stood up with the posters and tape in hand, shrugging.

"I didn't get all the details. Something about going around telling everyone in his lab class today about last weekend's _escapades sexuelles_." The Prussian raised a brow then burst into a brief laughing fit.

"Are you for real? That's something I'd expect from _you_."

"Mon dieu! I do not _broadcast_ myself, you know!" With mock offense, the blond flicked a dismissing wrist. "Anyway, this should be enough for now. Although practice is cancelled for today, I'd like to at least rehearse my beautiful talents for Friday's concert."

"Yeah, yeah." Gilbert glanced at the remaining poster he held in his hand and then the wall. In one sloppy movement, he slapped the piece of paper onto the slightly textured white surface before following the other male.

On it, it advertised their band's upcoming concert.

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Being the lead singer of a band and the judge of the university's social caste system exerted much energy and burned a fellow out.

Alfred F. Jones would know. He was both of these things.

Some people may not consider it an accomplishment for a twenty year old, (since those people believe that at that age, one should have higher aspirations like to become an attorney or surgeon), but that's how he saw it. That's how it felt. The _authority _he obtained...it was an accomplishment. From being another everyday college freshman to being the third-year every girl wanted to be with and every guy wanted to be, Alfred accepted and embraced his role amongst his peers. And quite frankly, took advantage of it as well. He figured "hell, I bull-shitted my way through high school, I can do the same in college AND have fun while I'm at it." Alfred could be an asshole.

But,

His hero-complex alleviated some of his asshole-ness and prevents him from being a bad person. Alfred isn't a bad person…just a stupid one…with poor decision making. Because he knew the consequences in which it took to reach his [not-really-but-to-a-college-kid's] godly status, but was still magnetised towards guaranteed attention and temporary power. (If you could call it that)

Not to mention, he did feel like he was a hero for those attending HTLA University [*]. Protecting them from (what he considered) the evil student council president. Now he couldn't let _him_ take over, now could he?

Everything would be so boring.

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There was a light, ghostly knock at the second-story computer lab's door. It was so light, it was as if the person whose arm was attached to the hand had no real intention to enter the room. Still, it managed to catch the attention of the blond male who was using one of the PCs.

"Who?" he called, not turning away from the monitor.

"Al, it's me Matt. Just letting you know they're about to close the lab's up for the day. That and Antonio needs a ride to the guitar store." Alfred glanced at the time. It was nearing 17:00. Closing the browser, he gathered his things and opened the door to meet up with his brother.

"Why does he need to go to the guitar store?"

"He broke two strings on his base. And he doesn't have replacements." The shorter-haired twin sighed at the explanation. It was a good thing they didn't have to perform for another four days.

"Sure. While we're at it, we might as well gather the others and get some dinner. I'm like omega starv." The Canadian raised a brow.

"Starv?"

"Starving, bro." Matthew nodded. Must be something the "cool kids" said.

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"Muchos muchos muuuchos gracias!" The Spaniard sang, exaggerating his thanks to his friends.

"No prob, man. Anyway dudes, what are we eating tonight? Matt's treat!"

"Eeeh? But I paid the last three times!" The other twin protested. The five of them walked together towards the elevator, Francis pressed the button.

"Gilbert offers to pay!" The Frenchman coughed, entering the metal contraption first. The rest followed suit and were slowly being lowered to the first floor. The Prussian glared at his friend.

"Not awesome! If I'm paying then we better be going somewhere where beer is on the beverage menu." Alfred shrugged, the other three nodded.

"Ok, fair game, yo. So where're we going bros?" The elevator dinged, signalling that they reached their floor. As the five got out, they all exchanged glances, chatting and trying to figure out what would be satisfying for the evening's meal. Matthew uncharacteristically spoke up first.

"Ah, maybe a breakfast diner?" Gilbert made a disapproval noise.

"No beer at those places."

"Oh, right."

"Oo, I'm craving Italian." Antonio piped in. There were some nods and some nah's, then the albino started chuckling. Everyone turned to face him, still walking as they did.

"Toni, didn't you eat Italian all weekend?" He managed to say through laughter. The brunette took a moment to process what his friend meant.

"Oooooooo!" The rest began, nudging at the Spanish bassist, who finally got it. They all laughed making their way towards the school's front exit until they heard a foot tapping ahead. When they saw who was making the sound, they groaned in unison (minus Matthew).

"Well, if it isn't you lot. Once again, I find you're running a zoo, Jones." The blond councilman near the door spoke, his voice dripping with a mixture of crude amusement and irritation. Standing crossed armed at the other side of the group, he narrowed his green eyes to the leader of the five, who only smirked.

"And if it isn't our favourite parasite. We weren't breaking any of your stupid rules, Krapland."

"Is that so? Because I recall volume-level AS one of them. Or did all the fat reach your not-brain and made you forget?" Alfred glared at the smaller blond and continued to walk. The others did as well. The American stopped when he was next to the Brit, flashing him a teasing smile.

"We were just leaving."

"You're still on campus. Keep it down." Arthur hissed, irritatedly. As the five exited Francis, Gilbert and Antonio all turned around to stick their tongues out, thus earning them a decently manicured middle finger. They continued through the parking lot to the twin's shared car.

"That guy is so unawesome."

"Oh, si. Es muy muy molesto." [*]

"He would be so much cuter if he'd just let us do what we want." Alfred rolled his eyes as his friend's complained, tossing the keys to his brother.

"Whatever to the jerky limey. Let's just go and figure out what to eat. Tomorrow we are going to get some serious practicing done." They grunted their agreements.

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Alfred F. Jones, the self-employed, self-titled "hero" has one arch nemesis, for reasons he's can't openly admit: student council president Arthur Kirkland. By all means, the president is ready to cockblock the social ringleader's fun…

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**NOTES****:**

**[*] ref to Beyoncé's "Irreplaceable" (I do not own, of course)**

**[*] 'HTLA' is the word "Hetalia" minus every-other letter. I'm sorry, but I didn't want to call it the overused, cliché "Hetalia [blank]" (I realised after I already typed this chapter that HTLA University really does exisit…I, er, don't own that as well…)**

**[*] 'molesto' means 'annoying' in Spanish. NOT the word 'MOLEST'**

**Annnnyyyywaaaay~**

**Hi there! I'm Owari and this is my first actual USUK story~ **

**I found this in an old notebook of mine, one from around April of last year. I guess I must've given up on this then, but new ideas are making their way into the thing-called-my-brain and thus, I am revising and adding onto this old story! I hope you can find this somewhat interesting ^^ I'm not much of a writer, but to try this I thought "this should be fun!" The rating WILL go up later (not necessarily FULL ON LEMONY-CITRUSY GUSH, buuuut) it will escalate. For now a T-rating suits it.**

**I won't beg for reviews, but they would be supremely appreciated!**

****Ch. 2, I'm uploading alongside this one.****

**Thank you for taking the time to eye my goop~**


	2. And I Accept Your Challenge

**((I should probably mention the roles of these guys before I forget, haha:**

**Alfred: Lead vocals (der~)**

**Matthew: Drums**

**Francis: Trombone and back-up vocals**

**Gilbert: Guitar**

**Antonio: Bass**

**ALSO! Lengthy paragraphs that are **_**italicised**_** are FLSHBACKS/PAST EVENTS. That is all for now~~)) **

Chapter. 2

"_What are you doing, Al?" Alfred turned to his friend, his grin beaming, causing the other body to crack a tiny smile. "What? Why the daft grin?" he chuckled._

"_Remember when I said I wanted to figure out something for us to do before we graduate?" The other nodded at the American. Both teenagers sat on top of the last set of bleachers, highest from the ground. It was their go-to spot during the lunch period. _

"_I do recall, yes."_

"_I wanna start a band." The other figure blinked for a moment, then chuckled._

"_Well, what an…interesting choice. Al, we have two more years before we graduate. I know you want to 'leave with a bang', but I think we should start thinking about our futures rather than silly high school fame. Colleges, perhaps?" Alfred groaned._

"_See, you always do this. Colleges…I get it. But I'm tired of being another face in the crowd. I'm not talking about fame and hot girls hanging on me, "The other boy narrowed his eyes, "I'm kidding. Kidding. But really, I just want to be remembered for something, ya'know?"_

"_Fine. I get it. It's ridiculous, but I suppose there's no harm."_

"_Sweet!" Alfred threw an arm around his friend's thin waist, making him squirm._

"_Thank yooou~"_

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"Alfred? Hey, Al?" There was a set of fingers snapping. The sandy blond blinked, breaking out of his daze. His hands were resting on a microphone-less microphone stand. The other three only watched as the nicer of the two twins managed to get his brother's attention. Francis clapped his hands loudly together, pulling all eyes onto himself.

"OK! Now that we have our spaceman back from _L'espace extra-atmospherique, _how about we get back to the task at hand? Espagne, you were saying?" Antonio smiled goofily.

"Oh I like that! Then can I call you _Francia, _Francis?" Gilbert snorted.

"That sounds like a girl's name Toni. But you two can call me the awesome Preußen!"

"Eeeh? Why do you get your's in your language, Gil?"

"Oi! If that is the case I want to be _France._"

"¿Para…por qué? Isn't that English?" Francis shook his head with faux appal.

"Nein, you say it with a stupid accent."

"Je vous demande pardon? Have you heard yourself speak in such an ugly tongue as yours, Gilbert dear? My god, I remember history class and having to sit through the speeches of—"

"Hey! Totally unawesome, take that back you over-manicured baguette!" From the side lines, both twins watched as the two bickered. (Antonio sat in between, only so often throwing in his two cents) After being fed up with the commotion, the American walked up to the three and gave each a good flicking to the foreheads.

"Yo! _France, Prussia and Spain_! Shut your faces and let's get back to this thing! We have twenty minutes before classes continue bros!" The three pouted. Gilbert was about to speak up, when the door to the music hall suddenly swung open, and in came three serious-faced councilmen. Arthur Kirkland lead as the other two followed towards the group of five. Behind him was Hungarian Secretary and council publicist, Héderváry Elizaveta and Japanese treasurer and Vice President, Honda Kiku. Four of the five groaned exaggeratedly. Kiku's brown eyes met the American's blue, he gave a slightly guilty bow towards his friend (making sure the Englishman didn't see him). Alfred nodded his understandings.

"Oh look, the sorry excuse of a council leader has arrived." The Frenchman teased, flicking his long blond hair to the side as he spoke. The Briton rolled his eyes and smirked. He wrote something on the wooden clipboard he held before retorting,

"I'm sorry did you say something? I don't speak to traitor frogs. Actually, I don't speak to frogs period." Francis crossed his arms and began clicking his tongue. Gilbert glanced over to Antonio, mouthing 'low blow'. The brunette nodded his agreement, his smile unfazed. At some point, Francis Bonnefoy used to be a part of HTLA's student body. Last semester though, he was promptly exiled for advertising the council's behind-the-seens work to the University when he joined Alfred's and Matthew's group. _Exposing the Head of Evil_, he called it. Seeing that he managed to get into the French trombonist [and back-up singer's] [*] head, Arthur turned his attention to the American.

"And what does the bad-teeth Queen want today? Or has she come to raise terror?" Alfred teased.

"Actually you caffeine-suicidal diabetic, I've come to tell you lot that there is a MANDATORY assembling of the school in fifteen. Regarding a couple…important matters." The Brit smirked. He knew exactly what he meant and what would be said at the assembly.

"_I have a bad feeling about this…"_ Matthew thought to himself, rolling the drumsticks in his hand.

"Fine. We'll be there to hear the shit that rolls out of your pretty-little-bossy face. Don't bore me, though."

"Trust me, you septic. You won't be 'bored'."

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Arthur's green eyes fell onto a pissed off American's face, as if he was only talking to him. He rubbed his index figure against the textured part of the microphone before repeating himself,

"I'll say it again. This season's music festival's acts are as followed: the General Winter ensemble [*]—"

As the Briton read off the list of acts again, Alfred crossed his arms with disapproval.

"That little shit. He really put the communists ahead of us." His brother took off his own glasses and wiped them with the end of his hoodie sighing. In a way, he could understand why his other half was so unhappy.

"Ah, what's so bad about being the last act?" Antonio asked, not quite understanding the predicament they just fell into. Francis tightened his ponytail, clarifying as he did.

"It means our show gets cut short. Basically, we get the remaining time AFTER everyone else performs, IF there is any time left."

"Ah man, that's wicked messed up!" Gilbert groaned, "Now no one will get to hear my awesome guitar solo!"

"—and _finally_, the closing act will be none other than _1A-S. _Thank you." The student president took his seat to the back of the stage as another council member got up to speak about more details on the event. From his seat, Arthur gave a teasing, cocky wink towards his American enemy. This made Alfred smirk, accepting the challenge that was just laid before him.

"Oh it is _so _on."

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"_If you were to go through with your silly idea, what would you even call the band? I mean, names are important." The other sophomore turned to face Alfred, who wiped his face clean of any crumbs and took one more sip of soda before tossing the can into a nearby trash bin. The two were on their way to the American's residence. The school day had finished for the week, marking the beginning of the weekend. Alfred thought about the question for a minute or two before an imaginary light bulb went off in his head._

"_I think something like '1A-S'. Sounds cool, huh?" The answer baffled the shorter male. _

"_1…A-S? What on earth is that supposed to mean?" Alfred put his hands in his hoodie pockets._

"_Well, 1a is a type of supernova. It's like saying…'hey, we're so badass, we make white dwarf stars explode!' The 'S' is just from the word 'supernova'." _

"_You're serious aren't you?"_

"_Hell yeah."_

"_Clever, I'll give you that."_

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"What do you mean 'no'?" The strawberry blonde whined. She held onto the back of the American's WWII-styled bomber jacket. Alfred sighed. He could feel her long bubblegum pink nails digging greedily into his lower back. He was on his way to confront Arthur when he ran into the female. Her name, he had forgot, but he remembered her face. She was cute, nice body and especially beautiful breasts. Not too big, but almost TV-like. He had taken her on a couple of dates, more for the hell of it rather than to establish anything more than going out to eat and ending the night with casual sex. Today, she was begging him to take her out again.

"Look, I'm like busy as hell this week. If you're not aware, I have a show to prepare for."

"I get it, but we haven't done anything in a while," she smiled seductively, running her fingers up his back until she reached his shoulders. Tippy-toeing, she leaned in to whisper, "since the rendezvous in the back of that movie theatre last weekend." The sandy blond male continued walking, this time a little faster. At the moment, he didn't want to deal with this. The blond he needed to be speaking to right now didn't have nice boobs, or a cute smile…he would be scowling if anything.

"A-Al!"

"No." turning the corner, he continued his speed walking until he reached a familiar oversized door that led into the depths of the cavern of evil. Without knocking, he opened the door and entered uninvited. Because really, he didn't have any manners. In the room, Elizaveta was to the side at a small desk, typing something up on a decorated Mac while Arthur sat at his desk writing in a tiny journal.

"_Probably his agenda of demise"_ Alfred joked in his head. Arthur looked up, then back down then up again. He made a cheeky smile.

"What's this? You've come to visit me? My, don't you know how to treat a boy. _Don't you?_" He hissed the last part. There was an apparent underlining anger. The Hungarian woman, glanced up at this, her attention caught.

"Oo, sorry to get your lonely hopes up but I didn't come for a full-on convo," The taller blond made his way further into the room until he was looming over the Briton's well organised desk. "actually, I wanted to warn you. If you keep fucking with my shows, bro, there _will_ be judgment passed on the evildoer." Arthur narrowed his eyes at the other's shit-eating grin. He was far from intimidated.

"If you're quite finished, there's the door. I have much work that needs to be done. Clearly something you never do."

"Oh, I have work alright. You'll see."

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**NOTES:**

**[*] Why a trombone? Well, I absolutely love SKA and felt that it would suit these 5. I personally can't picture them being a metal or screamo group! Aha~**

**An example of third-wave SKA: youtu. be/F2ktZpOwPeg *Suburban Legends- I Want More* ((remove spaces))**

**[*] General Winter ensemble: ensemble consisting of the soviet nations**

**Hi again! ^^ I hope this chapter was entertaining enough. I had to edit out a lot of things since this is still a plot-in-progress (and I didn't want to give out TOO much info so quickly. I realised how fast I was sputtering things in my old notebook!) As I've said before, the past is in **_**italics**_**, and I do apologise but in the meantime, it will be very vague. God, I know the name of their group is [insert homophobic seal] ULTRA GAAAAY! But I couldn't think of anything else and my notebook had a big ol' blank on the band name =v="**

**Good thoughts, bad thoughts I'll take it like a man! =U=b Thanks!**


	3. She's a Backstabber He Says

**(F:_) = Francis back-up singing**

**(U:_)= 'unison' everyone's vocals**

**That's all~~ thank you~**

Chapter. 3

"Mm, can I bite _here _then?"

"If you bite me one more time, idiota, I swear to all the gods I will have your head."

"You're gonna give me head?"

"OHMIGOD, I'M GONNA FUCKING DESTROY YOU" The agitated Italian culinary student stood up from the large, dark blue courtyard table and crossed his arms defiantly. This only pleased the Spaniard. Antonio, still seated, leaned forward, resting his head on the palms of his hands and stared dreamily at the boy he announced his love to just a little over a month ago.

"I love it when you do that, Lovi." Lovino raised a brow to the other male, his arms still crisscrossed against his chest.

"Do what?"

"That thing with your mouth." The younger brunette's face shot to a well tinted red. He grabbed fistfuls of the Spanish male's brown-grey button-up shirt.

"S-stop speaking like that so nonchalantly, pendejo!" Antonio chuckled, wrapping his arms around his lover's waist.

"What I said before was a joke, silly. But what I meant just now, I was talking about your pout."Lovino opened his mouth to say something, but then just mumbled a few nothings to himself. It was awfully comfortable being cuddled by the dumbest boy he knew. The two stayed like that for a moment or two before Antonio's outdated mobile device began blasting something that sounded like a gayer rip-off of The Who's "Baba O'Riley". [*]

"Maricon…"

"It's catchy though~!" The older male chuckled, before answering the call. "Hello?"

[[Where the hell are you?]]

"Gil? I can barely hear you. Where are you, amigo?"

[[Where do you think? At the damn Winter Music Festival! We're up in 15!]] The messy headed brunette blinked, then stood up so quickly that, if Guinness allowed, it would be on the records. This startled the younger of the two, who stood by and watched as Antonio clumsily gathered his belongings and began jogging back towards the school.

"Where are you going?" The Italian shouted at his boyfriend.

"Sorry, Lovi! I'm going to be late for our show! Come see me~~"

"Whatever…"

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Matthew grunted as he struggled trying to get his equipment set up with minimum sound (so as to not disrupt the scary Belarusian girl singing her love to a disturbed Russian boy). The blond Frenchman looked up from his phone only to see the pitiful sight and decided to help. He walked over to the other side of the large drum set.

"May I?" The Canadian blinked, surprised by the offer, and nodded slowly. Certainly he wasn't going to tell the elder 'no'. He felt as though someone just put a hot pack on his face and couldn't help but stay quiet. Was he embarrassed that he could never set his own equipment up by himself? Or embarrassed that it was Francis who was always the one to help him? They set everything up in silence. Francis then handed his friend his drumsticks with a reassuring smile. "It's not a big deal, mon ami." The quieter boy nodded, pulling some hair behind his ear just about ready to take a seat on his stool, when Francis shook his head, sucking his teeth. "Matthieu, Matthieu…"

"Ah, yes?"

"This won't do." He was just about to ask 'what' when the French trombonist took a step behind him and pulled his hair back, tying it neatly into a tiny ponytail with a spare rubberband. It made the younger blond realise he needed to trim his hair again. Was that imaginary hot pack still resting somewhere on his body? It felt hotter than before.

"_I really like how he says my name…"_

"Thank you." Matthew smiled.

"FINALLY!" Both turned at the sound of the American's shout. Antonio was leaning against the doorframe, his bass slung over his shoulders. He was wheezing slightly, his smile not fading.

"L-lo si-siento, Al. Haa~ I made it~"

"Dude, you can't keep showing up this late. What if you didn't show at all? This has been going on the past month." Alfred scolded. Francis now shook his head at the other twin. He walked up to the slightly taller blond and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Oh cut the boy some slack. Our Toni has been shot by the arrow of _l'amour_. You can't honestly say you have never been in love, can you?" Alfred glanced at the older Spanish member then to Francis. He shook his shoulder loose of the firm grip. He then walked over to the mirror that was off to the side and began fixing his hair.

"Nope, can't say I have, man." Matt almost felt sorry for his brother. The white-haired German guitarist glanced between all of his friends then snorted.

"Enough lovey-talk. We're all men here, let's go fuck shit up!" He fist pumped, getting himself hyped. The other's nodded. A small blonde girl bearing a purple ribbon in her hair came from behind the large red curtain, making her way to the five (now excited) boys. She spoke very timidly, her eyes never leaving the ground and her arms snuggly wrapped around a beat-up clipboard.

"A-ah, you guys are up next."

"Let's kill 'em!"

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Arthur slipped his way back into the festivity without being noticed, hiding behind the loners and potheads. Unfortunately for him, he had to cut his cigarette break short to a mere ten minutes…

"_Lovely. Just fucking lovely…"_

It was thanks to the fact that, since Elizaveta was starting to feel ill, he now had to record the last act. Which starred none other than the person he detested the most (next to the frog). He wasn't upset at her…he was just upset at the situation and his 'bloody' luck. Treading through the mass of social rejection, he managed to squeeze his way through the crowd and bump into an even larger crowd. This one drenched in high-pitched squeals, cheap perfumes and the eyes of envious boys. Luckily, the show hadn't quite begun. The lead male was speaking excessively loud through the microphone, getting his audience high off of the prospect of sharing this moment with him. They almost saw him like a _king._ This made Arthur roll his eyes.

"_This is terribly pathetic. Poor blokes."_

He turned the camcorder on and continued his way forward until he was closer to the ornate stage. He hadn't notice how far he walked forward until he heard a perfectly tuned trombone following the pattern of his steps and an 'ahem' from a well-dressed Alfred. His hair was haphazardly slicked back and made him look more…well, like a complete D; but aside from that, it did make him look a little older. The entire group was dressed in modern-style military, and strangely, it suited them. Francis took in an audibly loud breath, caressing the brass instrument with both his hands and his well-trained breathing. The American leaned into the mic and whispered, looking straight into the Briton's eyes,

"So let me tell you all, about a Queen I know…" He turned away and faced the ocean of his peers, standing as though he was giving a speech at an imaginary podium. Something that would've made any normal person look rather strange, somehow made him look cooler.

_And the story begins:_

_She has de-clared-a-war!_

_The Queen with the chipped tooth, yes the one who's obsessed with that one boy's demise._

_Oh how she wants to see him fall~~_

_With me, what does she want? What for?_

_When he asked himself, he finally came to realise_

_(F: The lies!)_

_The lies_

_(F: The lies!)_

_Summed up all of the things she once told him_

_She was uglier than he remembered._

_As they stared into each other's eyes, she leaned in her declaration:_

_This is World-War-We_

_(F: With me?)_

_With me?_

_(F: With you?)_

_With you?_

_Oh, how-can-this-be~~?_

_She was uglier than he remembered~~So~~_

_Free man!_

_(U: Take!)_

_Glory!_

_(U: Take!)_

_All that's clearly his_

_(U: It's all mine!)_

_Everything she does, she's sucking the life out of him~_

_The boy's going limp_

_(U: limp, limp, limp!)_

_Smiles!_

_(U: Take!)_

_Laughter!_

_(U: Take!)_

_Everything she can't bear,_

_(F: It's still mine!)_

_All that she does, she does it so selfishly~~_

_(U: For me! All me!)_

_And yet she expects him to continue obeying_

_To stand by her side, repeatedly saying _

'_What can I do to make you happy?' but_

_Oh how can he?_

_She ran off and disappeared and somehow_

_Somehow_

_The girl said 'it's your fault, so off with your head!' _

_Everything the she does, she does it so selfishly~~_

_Oh the Queen with the chipped tooth, _

_She was uglier than he remembered~~_

Arthur narrowed his eyes, his mouth gapped open. He wasn't sure what to make of the story the cocky, sandy blond was going on about. He stood there, his hand hurting at the pressure he thoughtlessly applied onto the small (but hard) device. He wasn't hearing this…

"What…?"

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_The young British male grumbled to himself, eyeing the yellow write-up slip with hateful eyes, like it was the absolute source of the issue he had just dealt with. He read it, and reread it over and over again, still in disbelief at what was written on it. He had seen many of his peers receive one or two or so many of them, you could probably publish them into a memoir that would become an instant New York Times Bestseller…Thoughtlessly, he continued running his tongue over the edges of his teeth as he made his way to his last class which was, thankfully, Study Hall. He pulled the door open, glad that no one paid him any attention. There were only a few other teens in this period, none that shared any other classes with the serious-faced Briton. He walked quickly to the back where the only person he knew in this class, would be. _

"_In enters the Queen!" The drowsy American whispered as he lifted his head from folded arms. His attention fell onto the Englishman who plopped himself on the next chair with a hybrid of a scowl and pout. A powl… inside, Alfred was "aww"ing. Arthur mimicked the other and folded his arms in front of himself on the table and rested his chin on the part where his limbs made an "X". _

"_Why do you keep calling me that? That's honestly the daftest thing anyone has called me." The darker blond snorted._

"_Simple. You Brits love your Queen. It's just so…well, British!" This didn't satisfy the smaller male._

"_By God, now you're talking bollocks! We don't obsess over our Queen you know, we simply…embrace. And yes, there's a difference." _

"_Ha, right. Right. Anyway, so tell me what happened? I heard you got into an argument with some kid in your Studio Art class." Arthur lifted his head a little to glance at the crumpled slip in his hand before flinging it to his friend to look at. Alfred caught it and began reading it eagerly. A couple scribbled sentences in, and the louder's mouth fell agape and his expression turned defensive. _

"_Are you freaking serious? He shoved you into a desk? Oh if I was there I would've whopped his—"Arthur gave a dismissing pat to the fuming teen's arm, knowing fully that Alfred really would kick the blighter's ass._

"_I'm already in enough shit for defending myself, apparently, I don't need you to fall into the pile as well."_

_The American's brows were still furrowed. He reread the paper again and shook his head. _

"_Well, what happened exactly? It doesn't really say how it lead to the actually argument." The Briton sighed with exasperation. _

"_It's nothing, really. The prat called me 'fag' for choosing to do a painting of a rainbow for my assignment. And I know he wasn't calling me a 'cigarette', so I told him to piss off and yeah, he pushed me. Of course I wasn't going to lie back and take it! I did push the bastard back as well…"_

"_Rainbow? Well not the manliest thing but here in the good ol' USA, you have the right to do whatever the hell you feel like in art! Expression yo! What a butt. He really has no reason to call you that. Sooo, what was his name?" Arthur raised a thick brow then chuckled, feeling a little better._

"_No. I'm not going to have you go hunt this kid down. But thank you." The paler blond took back the paper and began mindlessly folding it. They sat quietly for a minute or two before Alfred remembered something he read on the slip. He craned his head around to observe his friend's face._

"_What?"_

"_Lemme see."_

"_Wha— no. No." Arthur shook his head. Alfred threw his head back making a frustrated sound. _

"_C'mon. It said it chipped." The brit sat up and pursed his mouth tightly shut. The other sat up as well. "You better yo, I'll tickle you 'til you pee." Al threatened. This made the lighter blond groan._

"_Oh bugger off will you? It's ugly, now." _

"_I doubt it! C'mon I just wanna see. Real quick!" _

"_Fine! Just a glance you bloody oaf." He quickly opened his mouth to show the other male the minor damage that his canine-tooth received thanks to the corner of a desk. Al made an impressed noise through his nose. "It looks bad, doesn't it?" the young Englishman asked, the taller shook his head._

"_Nah, it looks kinda cool! Like a battle scar! Besides you can barely see it unless you're all up on your space." Arthur rolled his green eyes and tugged the sleeves of his cardigan over his fingers. Without much thought, Alfred began playing with the ends of the soft material (which was textured) while he spoke again. The other didn't really mind as he was still more concerned about the current appearance of his teeth. "Really, it looks fine. I wouldn't lie." The American tried to reassure._

"_It's not fair though. Now I'm stuck with this and I didn't even get to mark that arsehole." The brit complained with a mumble. _

"_Hey, but it could be worse."_

"_How?"_

"_You could BE that 'arsehole'." The sandy blond smirked, drawling the last word with slow emphasis. This made the other's frown turn upward. He began to chuckle._

"_Oh God, your accent when you say it. Just stick to your version, will you?" Arthur shook his head, amused. Al shrugged._

"_Hey, at least it got you to laugh!"_

"_Hm. I suppose."_

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At the closure of the performances, students began filing themselves back into their cliques and loitered around the auditorium inside and out. Save for the ones with higher 'statuses'; they began to ready themselves for an after party that was arranged on their behalf. Alfred high-fived those who congratulated him and his friends. Some of his hookups were curious as to who he was singing about. To those questions, he just responded with a 'someone that betrayed me like the little backstabber they turned out to be'. And of course, they all naïvely felt sympathy for him, knowing no backstory. As they all made their way out of the auditorium to head towards the parking lot, the American caught a glance of messy blond hair leaving through the back. Just by the smaller's posture, he could tell his words were still ringing in the head of the school councilman. Internally, Alfred felt a small battle between good and evil, but only sighed thinking to himself,

"_Well, he keeps antagonising me. What does he expect?"_

Arthur continued his way out until he was in the hallway, where he was finally able to breathe properly. He wasn't necessarily 'hurt' but he felt like the knife that the other already had put in his back had been twisted, just a little. He furrowed his brows feeling somewhat self-conscience now, and mindlessly began running his tongue over the edges of his upper teeth. He shook his head and pulled out his phone, his mind set on going to the little after party (although he disliked parties). Lucky for him, he can lie and say he's just there on 'business', because what other reason would he go anyway? His foot tapped up and down impatiently until the other line was picked up.

"H-hello?"

"Oh, did I wake you?"

"Arthur-san..? Ah, no. I just wasn't expecting to receive a call this late. Is there a problem?" The Englishman leaned his back against the cool wall, tracing the tiles on the ground with his eyes as he spoke.

"A problem? No, why would there be a problem? Actually, I wanted to ask a favor of you…" From the other side of the line, Kiku paused his game and set the device down to better pay attention.

"Yes? Do go on."

"I need you to come with me to that party thing that's going on tonight." The Japanese male raised a brow. In his stomach he could feel that something was about to go down. "Is that..all?"

"No. I also need you to bring that one guy. You know, your brother's [*] little boy-toy. He performed earlier but I don't see him here. So I'm assuming he's there with Yao." Kiku's brow knotted together, unsure of what his friend was up to. Already, it sounded ugly. But at the same time, he also cannot let the westerner know he's actually close friends with Alfred and his group. That would only put him into the line of fire of the two blonds little war. Al was fine (well, _indifferent) _with him being acquainted with Arthur, but he knew well that visa versa, the Briton would throw a fit. Really, he did not want to get involved with name calling and antics.

"I'll…I'll see if they can make it."

"Brilliant. I'll meet you there in ten." The other line went dead and the small brunette slowly pulled the mobile device away from his ear and placed it next to his handheld game. He was debating on whether or not to warn his friend…

"Really. What happened, happened. Those two need to sort the mess and quit this dispute." He rubbed his stomach as he stood up. It began to ache. "I cannot handle these types of situations."

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**NOTES:**

**[*] Ref to One Direction's "Best Song Ever" (DO NOT [EVEN WANT TO] OWN…no offense)**

**[*] Yao will be the brother of Kiku. **

**Thank you if you spent time on this! :D I know there's a lot of 'tension', but I really need it to be for later~**


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